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What was I hoping to find?

“You know it’s been a day when even Carl is afraid of you.” Joel has appeared at my side with a clipboard hugged to his chest.

I don’t bother asking why Carl’s afraid of me. I know I was a block of ice the whole time I worked on that shiny car that looks like even its engine gets vacuumed out and polished every day.

“He never mentioned Wyatt’s name,” adds Joel.

I frown at him. “So?”

“But you did.”

I stop. Look off at the road.

Flower guy, Grant called him. Kid.

Joel’s right. He didn’t mention him by name.

I did.

I shrug. “So what if I gave away that I know him? Small town. He’s an idiot if he doesn’t assume we all know each other.”

Joel eyes me. “We? So … you’re part of that ‘we’ now?”

“Fuck off.”

He giggles. “Love you too, Big D.” Then he heads back into the shop, whistling to himself. I check my phone. No messages or calls. I take off my hat and run a hand over my head, exhausted.

—27—

Wyatt

It was bittersweet, watching her drive away.

She hugged me for a long time before going, but it didn’t feel like it usually does, full of her fiery big-sis energy and glee. There was something guarded in it. Too full of deep, sticky thoughts.

I kept worrying about what she was thinking.

If I’d said too much today.

Or not said enough our whole lives.

After the hug, she smirked at me and said, “Would’ve still won those games, even if you’d thrown all your armies at me.” The joke ran flat, but I smiled. Then wondered if it was a joke at all. And as I cleaned up the house afterwards, restoring the room she stayed in and straightening up the living room, I found a deep green beaded bracelet she left behind. There’s a couple of sunflower charms on it, breaking up the green. I think Mom and Dad gave it to her way back in high school.

Then suddenly I’m thinking of Diego.

And something Connie said about him Sunday after we parted ways with him at the restaurant. “That one’s a gargoyle.” She gave me a wink before heading back to the car, and I was left standing there confused, wondering why the hell she’d call him that. Aren’t gargoyles ugly-faced creatures made out of stone?

Like, what the fuck?

I’m in the greenhouse tending to my babies when my phone chimes on the table behind me. I turn and lift it up.

A message from Diego: “Did Rapunzel have a great fall yet?”

I stare, confused, then glance over toward the opened door.

Diego stands outside.

Looking beautiful, even in just a t-shirt and jeans. Plain-ass t-shirt. Plain-ass jeans. And he makes me forget what all other jeans look like, all other t-shirts, all other men.